Whar He Means To Me
by CrookshanksPatronus
Summary: Dean Thomas is hopelessly in love with his best friend. His thoughts and drawings prove it. (Ps: I have posted this on Wattpad under @Pizzaless as well.)


**Okay this is just a short one shot and I'm bad at writing & I'm terrible at writing accents (Seamus's accent for example). So please be kind and just read this for the idea of it and try to ignore the hideous grammar **

I don't know how it got this bad.

Really. I don't. I have not one bloody clue how I got so love sick over him. He's just Seamus! But in my defense, 'just Seamus' means a lot of breath taking and wonderful things. Like his hair for example; the way his wispy blond curls gathered at the base of his (almost) too pale neck. Or his eyes, so clear and bright and so fucking blue. And the way the corner of his eyes crinkle together when he laughs, and fuck. Do you see what I mean? It's gotten a bit ridiculous.

I rub my eyes and look around me. The curtains of my bed are pulled shut and my sketches and pencils are strewn all over my sheets, only visible by the moonlight creeping in through the windows. Most of my sketches are of Seamus. He's the best thing that I draw, probably because he's almost the only thing I draw. However in this particular sketch I can't get the shape of his (adorable) nose right. I feel around my bed for my watch, and glancing at it tells me that it's 1 in the morning. Normally I would just look at Seamus and draw his nose, but seeing as it was late I thought better of it.

I groaned and threw my head back in frustration, only to slam it against the wall.

"Damn."

It surprised me that I had said that so easily, I rarely swore outside of my head, and apparently I swore a little to loud. I hear a soft "lumos" and then a light appears. "Dean?"

I almost let out a dreamy sigh at Seamus's slightly husky, and very tired, voice. "I'm good, Shay." I whisper back but the light doesn't go out. I hear shuffling and I can see Seamus's form getting closer and closer to my shut curtains. I don't have a moment to even think about hiding the sketches when he slides the heavy cloth open. His eyes are slightly hooded and his hair is disheveled. He looks at me then at the papers surrounding me. I snap my eyes shut so I don't see his reaction, "Are these...are these of me?" He chokes out, disbelief clear in his question.

I don't answer; I can't find my voice. I hear him pick some of the drawings up and then I feel the bed sink as he climbs in beside me. He closes the curtains and whispers a silencing charm so the other boys in the room can't hear us. "Dean, look at me." His voice is demanding, not soft and warm like usual. Honestly, in different circumstances, that would have been a major turn on. But my eyes were still closed and I inwardly shuddered at what must be going on through his mind. "Fuck, DEAN." He practically yells and my eyes open, slowly one and then the other. His face is red, and his eyes are slightly watery "I-Shay please don't be mad." I found my voice, but it was a lot smaller than I wanted it to be. He doesn't say anything, just shakes his head and a few tears slip out of his eyes.

He looks back at the drawings and leafs through them, "These are beautiful, Dean." He whispers so softly I almost don't hear it, but I do and my heart soars, "But I don't look like that. My face isn't that proportional, and my eyes don't sparkle or anythin'. I'm boring Dean, so why did you draw me like...like I was beautiful?" Again I'm a little lost for words, how could he think that? It was very un-Seamus like of him to be so insecure, but it still baffled me as to why he couldn't see how amazing he actually was. "Shay? Are you serious?" I stuttered, he looked at me then quickly wiped the tears from his eyes, in a way that looked almost painful, "Nevermind, Dean. Fuck it." He presses a palm to one of his eyes as he yanks open the curtain.

When I was younger, and I was scared to do something, my mother often told me that if there was more than a 20% chance that it could go right, then don't think about it. Just act. So that's what I did. I grabbed Seamus's shoulders and yanked him back in the closed curtain area, flipped myself on top of him, and pinned him to the bed. "Get off me you lousy fucker!" He yelled but I just pressed him deeper into the mattress. He had to hear what I had to say. "Seamus. Seamus. Seamus listen." I growled and he stopped moving, I stared deep into his (now dilated) eyes and took a breath before I began.

"You are," I kiss his cheek, the blush that pops up across his cheeks and nose encourages me to keep going.

"The most annoying person," I kiss his jaw and he lets out a small sigh, almost unnoticeable, but it was there.

"I have ever met. But," I trail three light kisses down his neck to his collar bone I feel him relax some,

"I love you." I wanted those words to be soft, but they came out as a growl. I bite and gently tug at the sensitive skin on his collar bone and he lets out a choked moan which also increases my boldness. I stop my assault on his neck and shoulders and look him in the eye. He looks shocked but not horrified so I take it as a good sign. It gives me one final surge of adrenaline and I press my lips to his firmly, too the point where my lips were almost numb. Then the worst thing that could ever happen, happens.

He doesn't respond.

I pull away, lingering though, trying to savor what would be the first and the last time I ever tasted his lips.

I loosen my hold on him, sure that those few seconds of bliss are over,

But he proves me wrong. He wiggles his wrists from my grasp and his hands are immediately in my hair tugging me to him, he kisses me softly and I think I might cry of relief.

A few moments later we both come up for air, "Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you too."


End file.
